Press Release
by JanetAndrews
Summary: When Clarisse & Joseph have a little rendez vous in a french hotelroom, nothing seems to stand in their way. But they didn't count on one thing...
1. Chapter 1

There was a certain smell about old hotels. The smell of dust on the carpet in the hallway was musty, giving one the unsettling realization that thousands of feet had walked over it. The wallpaper in this hotel had a flower pattern that was vaguely familiar, the colors were faded out a bit and the paper curled around the edges. There were signed pictures on the walls of celebrities who had once stayed at this hotel. A reminder that at some point in time, this had to have been a classy place, although one was entitled to forget that when noticing the steep, uneven staircase and the inconvenient lack of an elevator.

In the hotel suite on the top floor however, the dusty smell of the hallway was nowhere to be found. Clarisse stood in front of the open windows and inhaled the fresh scent of the French evening air, feeling how the oxygen revitalized her brain. Her robe and nightgown swayed a bit in the moving wind. The smell of pine trees enveloped her and she heaved another deep sigh, closing her eyes while doing so.

She had opened the Children's Center of Marseille earlier that day, a place she helped finance. It hadn't been her choice to attend the grand opening, she would have preferred to stay in the shadows, but the founders had insisted she come. Nothing would please the children more they had said. So how could she refuse?

The party she had to attend as well this evening, held to celebrate all they had accomplished, had been delightful, yet a bit of a strain as well. Having to smile her way through yet another night and another stream of people had worn her out. But, she couldn't deny, she wouldn't have been so exhausted in the first place if she hadn't been avoiding the subject that was about to rob her from another night's sleep.

Staying in this particular hotel had been her choice, even though the founders of the children's center had been willing to provide her a stay in the most luxurious hotel in town. She had refused; somehow it didn't feel right to bathe in wealth after having witnessed dozens of children in need. Besides, she had spent a lot of nights here in the past, back in her youth when her parents took her on vacation. It brought back an unbelievable flood of memories to look outside and see the pine trees waving in the cool evening breeze.

Yes, she could enjoy the view and then head to bed. She had every intention of doing so, but there was this uneasy sensation in the back of her neck, a prickling feeling that caused her to turn her head slightly.

There it was, made from solid wood. The broken white paint was crackled a bit. The wobbly handle not made from iron but from copper. But the lock was clicked perfectly into place.

One door. She shook her head as she kept staring at it. One door was all it took. One door to open. One door to close behind her forever.

She had been staring at this door, and so many doors similar to this one, numerous times before. That hard wooden door that hid a certain private suite in her own palace was her least favorite one – she had stood in front of it too many times to count. Looking for her source of light. Looking for Joseph.

Once again he had been with her all throughout the day, as always offering her security and support where needed. Staying in the shadows, yet ever so much present when that painful moment came this afternoon when a child climbed on her lap at the reception – a little boy named Philippe. Joseph had been there for her, a soft squeeze on her shoulder letting her know that he understood. She had welcomed his touch, as usual.

Posing for the press came afterwards; how she loathed moments like that. Flashes of light blinded her while photographers screamed at her to turn this or that way, to smile or not to smile, or to shake the hand of God knows who.

Joseph had guided her away from the press, had blocked people from approaching her and she had used that moment to thank him again for being there for her. It had been such a brief moment between them, but she could see that her own emotions were mirrored in the deep shade of his eyes. Feelings of warmth, gratitude and more – how much more she was afraid to learn.

During the party he had cheered her up, making her laugh uncontrollably even though she had to remain professional. They had danced, oh how they had danced, and she had felt on top of the world. Right there and then, the world had seemed perfect and he felt it too, that much was evident. They had spoken without words. And then suddenly, he was gone.

She frowned and moved her eyes towards the door again. Suddenly he had gone.

She shouldn't try to find out why he had left, some doors were meant to be shut forever, locked in chains that were their own, sealed shut by fate itself. There were hundreds of reasons to stay in her suite and not a single one for her to do what she was about to do.

And yet...

She shivered, taking a few tentative steps closer. The door seemed even more solid when standing inches away from it. Her knock started out softly, almost insecure, so she put more pressure to it. With her breath high in her chest she waited until she heard the familiar click on the other side. A bolt of lightning shot through her, realizing what she was about to do, realizing she was putting herself on display. But she had made her decision, she had to follow up on it now and, in spite of her great anxiety, she smiled in delight when the door opened. There he was. Joseph.

"Hello."

His tone was short, sounding as if he wasn't surprised to have her standing here right in front of him.

"Hello to you," she nodded, her knees felt unsteady so she sought support from the wooden frame of the doorpost.

He stood before her, wearing black sweat pants and a fairly new fitted T-shirt, the short sleeves emphasizing his strong arms. Usually her eyes would be drawn to them, but there was something else that put her on guard tonight; that made her alert and wary. It was the uncertain look in his eyes, a sort of darkness mirroring behind them. It was how he let his gaze slide across her face, never stopping, as if he were trying to focus, but not succeeding.

It was his attitude, a bit aloof but oddly surrendering at the same time. But mostly, it was his smell, a vaguely sweet, unfamiliar smell that surrounded him. As she looked past him inside the room, the reason for it occurred to her before her eyes had time to confirm it in her mind.

His room was a shrill contrast to her own large luxurious suite. The drapes were dark brown, heavy and unwelcoming, shutting the world out. The carpet felt thick and comfortable underneath her bare feet, yet it was uneven, as if someone had mowed the lawn and had left off a few places. The atmosphere of the room was dark and dusty, smelling like old tobacco and a hint of cologne. Maybe Joseph had sprayed a little to cover up the musty scent of the building. His bed was neatly made and clean, the pillows however were standing against the headboard of the bed. Letting her gaze slide over the sheets, his pillows, and the little dent in the middle of the mattress, she then noticed the large glass on his nightstand; halfway filled with a gold colored liquid. As she suspected, Joseph had indeed been drinking, the realization both surprised and unnerved her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked as she met his gaze again. He didn't wait for her answer but turned around to walk back into his bedroom. As if he had expected her.

She hesitated, even though she had made the decision to come here, suddenly it felt like an intrusion to follow him. Yet clearly it was what he expected her to do. Somehow he was behaving like someone else, rather than her loyal chief of security, the man she had grown so close to over the years. Granted, he ceased being just part of her staff a long time ago. But there was something different in the way he was sitting down on his bed and looking at her with an uncertain glint in his eye.

"You? Still up I see?" she asked.

"Very perceptive," he nodded. "But then again, I never sleep until three am."

"So your boss puts a strain on you then," she said, folding her arms and leaning against the wall. As he turned to get his glass, she noticed his small smile. It made her smile, too.

"Must be some lady, huh?"

He chuckled, he couldn't help it, but his laugh faded out as he turned his head to meet her eyes. She was looking at him from across the room, wearing a floor length robe, made of sheer white satin. As always, it was a perfect fit, tight around her chest line, dropping smoothly from her waist down. A smooth white ribbon, made of the finest, most delicate lace was tightly tied in her waist, emphasizing her figure. And right where her robe came together on her chest, he could see a glimpse of her nightgown underneath, made from the same shiny fabric. The chest line was round, perfectly supporting her natural curves and by the looks of it, it was embroidered with tiny pearls and glass beads. They sparkled ever so slightly whenever she moved.

He looked away. It hurt him physically to see her like this, the temptation she posed to him. The temptation she had always posed to him. And yet, he could never say a word.

She would have to be the one to come closer. It always had been this way.

"You have no idea," he simply said.

To her surprise he said nothing else, instead he was twirling his glass so the ice tinkled against the crystal. Somehow the silence felt uncomfortable, a feeling she hadn't yet experienced with this man. One of the things they did so well together was enjoy the peace and quiet. Silence between them was usually soothing, calming. This silence didn't feel as peaceful at all.

"What are you having?" she asked as he took a sip.

"No idea, some sort of French Scotch that I had sent up from the hotel bar," he answered, lowering his glass. Then, as he looked up, that small smile reappeared on his lips and he raised his glass at her. "Would you like some?"

Already inhaling to say no, she suddenly stopped herself. There was something in his voice, that hint of mocking amusement, which made her change her mind. He was daring her she realized. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the glint in his eyes. Was he really challenging her, to take a step beyond her restrictions? Was she projecting perhaps? Did she want him to ask her to come closer towards him?

"Why not."

If he was surprised at her response, he didn't let her in on it, and he left his hand dangling in mid air – his glass pointed her way.

She took a few steps closer and accepted his glass without any comment. It was oddly intimate, sharing his glass. As she tilted her head back to empty it, and immediately swallowed the ice-cold fluid, she felt tears stinging into her eyes. The scotch was strong, momentarily burning away her insides, and she couldn't say that she thoroughly enjoyed the bittersweet taste. The warm sensation it left behind was pleasant though. An ice cube stayed behind as she lowered the glass, cooling her mouth. Her tongue played with the ice, turning it round and round inside her until it had melted away. _  
_  
Keeping his eyes fixated on her, he formed his hands into fists. This wasn't even subtle anymore. Clarisse knew exactly what she was doing, and who she was doing this for. And it drove him insane.

To say this was the first time that something similar had occurred between them wasn't the truth, far from it actually. He had found himself in situations like this before, feeling as if he was stranded on a deserted island and was only allowed to listen to the life he'd left behind through a distorted radio signal. Being allowed to speak, but not confront her. Wanting to touch, but forced to look. Having to wait. Always waiting that extra moment.

"Thank you," she finally said as she licked her lips and met his gaze again. It was strange, but somehow she felt as if she didn't know this man who was looking at her from his bed. His eyes were dark and loaded with an emotion she couldn't quite read.  
"I don't think I've ever seen you drinking before," she said, handing him back the empty glass.

He kept looking at her body, covered with that white satin that lit up the darkness yet only fed his frustration. After slight hesitation he spoke. "There's a first time for everything."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. His hands were playing with the coaster that had been lying on the nightstand.

Suddenly, as if someone cut an invisible wire, they fell into a discussion that seemed to be a continuance of something that had been spoken about earlier.

"Where were you?"

"When?"

"Just now. After the party."

He refilled his glass. "Off to my room."

She came closer. "Without telling me?"

"Without _having_ to tell you, apparently." He waved his hand at her, pointing out that her current location made that fact obvious.

Choosing to ignore his cynism, she continued. "You left me alone."

He shook his head. "You weren't alone."

He was right about that. Truth was, her ladies maids had accompanied her as she climbed up the stairs to her suite. There had been absolutely no need for him to be with her, yet his presence was missed dreadfully. Like any other night he wasn't with her. Especially tonight. Her voice changed, got softer as she took a tentative step closer.  
"I suppose it felt alone."

Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes. He simply wasn't able to look at her any longer. Hearing her say those words shook him to the core. All night long he had felt it tingling in the air, like sizzling champagne. He had felt it in the deepest corners of his body, the way she smiled at him or touched him, his shoulder or his hands. She had danced with him, cheek to cheek, her hand firmly in his, their skin separated only by her silk glove. His body had reacted to her presence in a way he hadn't been able to deny. He knew she had felt it, he knew she had seen the desire in his eyes. He knew that she knew. And so he did what seemed the right and only thing to do. He left as soon as possible. But now she was here, seemingly unable to let him go.

As if she realized what he was contemplating, her voice came traveling towards him through the loaded air. "Joseph, what's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

She swallowed. "Look at me, please."

He obeyed, how could he not? And when he looked he saw exactly what he had been so fearful of seeing. That look of hers. That tempting, flirtatious, dark - dare he say it -, erotic look that, the few times that he had been allowed to see it, had left him speechless, full of desire and longing. Damn her_. __  
_  
Despite his nonchalant act when she came in, once again her presence rocked his world upside down. He had gone down this path so many times before and he had become an expert in hiding his feelings for her. But he felt it all right; he had never stopped feeling it.

As he stared at her gracious collar bones, the roundness of her chest, her slim posture and the sheer white fabric of her robe with the thin nightgown hiding beneath it, he felt his head spin. He had often felt as if he was standing on a cliff and any movement would undeniably kill him. Right now, the cliff he was standing on seemed to crumble away underneath him. But this time he had to act, rather than staying motionless, in order not to fall.

"You left for a reason, didn't you?" she whispered.

Her deep blue eyes pierced right into his, begging him to be honest, and he held his breath; this was more than even he could handle. His heart was racing in his chest, rushing his blood through his entire being. Feeding the desire that already was unbearable. "Yes I did," he said. Then, after slight hesitation a slight, sad smile appeared on his face. She had to return the honesty she seemed to be demanding from him. "And you know why I left."


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for all your kind words! Here is chapter two but after that you have to wait a while. I'm working on it every spare minute I have, but I promise to give it my full attention! _

_Katie, I miss you too xxx_

**Chapter two:**

There, he had said it. He knew he had hit target, the soft blush that drew across her cheeks was all the proof he needed.

Denying it would be useless, she realized. His small, knowing smile as she kept silent was enough. After some hesitation, she cleared her throat and looked directly at him. "Yes, I do."

Nodding, and needing an excuse to avoid her gaze, he reached out for his bottle of Scotch and poured himself another drink. Without putting the bottle back on the nightstand, he emptied the glass in one gulp and quickly refilled it. It did not wash away the rush of heat in his entire body, or the maddening feelings that were toying with his mind. It seemed to numb it all for a moment however, so he kept on drinking but in smaller sips this time around.

Watching him drink, she drew a shaky breath. His silence frustrated her, it threw her off balance. In slow paces she walked over to him and came to stand in front of him, once again disentangling his drink out of his unwilling hand. Without tearing his gaze away from him, she drank the contents of it herself and finally placed the glass on the nightstand. This time around she enjoyed the taste more. She looked down on his head, his strong shoulders and his hands that were formed into fists.

He shook his head as he stared at her flat stomach and her feminine curves that were hidden behind the thin white satin. His mouth was dry, in spite of the fluids he had just thrown back. And as he looked at her, feeling her warm eyes resting on him, suddenly his frustration seemed to melt away; replaced by a feeling of helplessness. "We have a problem, don't we?" he asked softly as he searched her gaze. _  
_  
Silence fell once again. Instantly she felt the need to run away, as a child who was just caught doing something they shouldn't be doing. Her hands toyed with each other and she simply couldn't find a way to respond. His eyes seemed to look straight into her heart and she held her breath when a soft smile suddenly appeared on his lips. This man had the unsettling ability to hit target, it was something so uniquely Joseph that it often had made her feel secure and at ease. She never had to explain to him, it was as if he sensed her emotions. Right now, however, she wished he would look the other way for once in his life. But she was fighting a lost battle.

Smiling still, he patted with his hand on the soft mattress. To his surprise, she took his invitation immediately but as she sat down, she covered her cheeks with both hands.

Nerves ran through her stomach as if they were trying to beat each other in a race. Never had she felt more exposed, yet instantly she realized that there was no point in denying it.

"Oh God, we do have a problem," she said as she laughed softly at her own stupidity. She hid her eyes behind her trembling hands and shook her head. "Oh God..."

He moved away from her so his back came to rest against his pillows. He looked at her from the side now, his heart beating calmly in his chest. Waiting. Somehow he had always known that this moment would come. Maybe it was high time they discussed it.

"Oh gosh..." She was making matters worse by showing her confusion, she knew it but she couldn't stop herself. It was odd, she had the chance to keep her composure and walk away and yet she chose to reveal so much by saying one simple sentence to him. And now she was sitting here, in her nightgown, on his bed of all places. Suddenly it was like she could study the scene from above and her throat tightened at the sight.

Joseph saw her breaking, saw how her resistance slowly crumbled away. A high-pitched sound suddenly tore up from within her throat and as he observed her silently, as her laughter came free. High and breathless at first, deeper and lower as she took another intake of breath. It was magical to watch her, magical to see the way her head tilted backwards, to look at her teeth that sparkled in the soft light and being able to see her closed eyelids. He sighed. How could he resist her, he had never stood a chance.

"I'm sorry," she panted, her hand formed into a fist on her chest. Her breathing quickened again and before she burst into laughter again, he had already braced himself for it. This time he joined in though, how could he not. He watched her. Listened to her. Her laughter had almost a poetic touch, the sound as captivating and oddly moving as music.

"This isn't funny," she coughed and breathed deeply to regain her composure. Normally she had no problem assessing a situation but in this case, her perseverance had left her.

"Oh, it's a little bit amusing I should say," he shrugged and his grin almost made her giggle again. Almost.

"But it shouldn't be," she then said, her smile fading. "This," she gestured quickly with her hand, "...is crazy."

That simple conclusion sobered both of them up immediately and silence fell once again between them. Outside, the streetlights suddenly dimmed, emphasizing the darkness the room had fallen into.

Slowly, Joseph reached out for his drink, just so his hands and mouth had something to do. "Are you surprised?" he said as he met her pensive gaze. With all his strength, he was trying to keep the conversation going. What he really wanted to do, was taste those soft-looking lips, explore the warmth inside of her mouth, and mold her body against his until he could feel every inch of it. It was exactly that instantaneous heat and desire, that mind-blowing reaction of his body that had shocked him earlier that evening, and put him square in the path of danger.

Immediately he regretted it as he saw her cheeks turning into an even deeper shade of red. But before he could speak up to comfort her, she suddenly spoke herself.

"Not really surprised," she said, and then continued with a shy smile: "Are you?"

He smiled back and cleared his throat, it was odd to share this knowledge and not be able to act on it. Had it been anyone else, he would have broken the barriers already. But this was Clarisse Renaldi, the most desirable woman he had ever met. But also a woman he had to stay away from. Which was getting harder to do with every second that passed by.

"A little, I have to admit."

His boyish smile calmed her down a bit; she welcomed that warm glow in her stomach.

"Why? You can't imagine someone being attracted to you?" She should stop talking now, stop flirting now, but it was like an invisible force kept her there, made her speak up. It was addictive, to feel the admiration of a man. Despite the huge risk she was taking, she was also secretly enjoying the effect she had on him. Knowing what she could do to a man, this man before her thrilled her and excited her. The fire that was burning within begged to be fed, her whole being yearned for something she had to stay away from. But how could she?

He chose to ignore her question. "I wonder...," he said instead, pausing mid-sentence as if he wasn't sure how to proceed. His eyes slid off her face, to her smooth chest, the enticing curves hidden in her cleavage. The gown supported her natural forms but left enough to the imagination to make him yearn to see more. He always wanted more.

Feeling his gaze upon her body, her heart started to pound. Electricity sparked once more between them, it was impossible to extinguish this eternal burning flame. "You wonder what?" she asked as she stared at his strong shoulders, his arms where she would fit in so perfectly.

"Has there ever been a man who was strong enough to resist you, Clarisse?" he asked.

The deep laugh seemed to come from her lower abdomen, but she said nothing.

"Ever?" he repeated.

"I wouldn't know," she said truthfully.

"I'm guessing not," he chuckled.

She interrupted his laugh. "They don't have to resist, you know," she said. After slight hesitation, she decided to be honest. "See Joseph, a woman doesn't like the chase as much as men do."

"She doesn't?" He placed his glass down and immediately she felt cornered. As long as he was holding that glass, at least she could predict his actions. She forced her gaze to his face again, seeing how his eyes twinkled. He was enjoying this conversation she realized. Like her.

"Take this as a lesson," she said in what she hoped to be a slight teasing tone, "If you make a girl run for you, she might run the opposite direction."

It was an easy shot, one he couldn't let go. "Mmm...sure," he nodded in mocked seriousness. "You could have fooled me this evening though. You weren't running away."

Swallowing hard, she had to admit to herself that he was right. Truth was that she had been feeding him and teasing him shamelessly over the past few months. Embarrassment waved through her body, getting stronger as she couldn't find the words to defend herself.

"You haven't made it easy for me," he continued, his eyes sliding to her chest and then back up. She blushed under his approving stare. "You're not making it easy for me right now either. You know that far too well."

He was daring her out in the open and she braced herself; it was either fight or run.

"Don't play innocent with me," she said as she straightened up. She pointed in his direction. "You and your little games, you haven't been exactly honest either."

The second the words had escaped her lips, she saw the immediate change in his demeanor. His eyes darkened and suddenly he sat up straight, coming so close that her heart started to pound in her chest. Slowly, his warm hands framed her face and she gasped as he brought his eyes only inches away from hers. She smelled the sweet smell of whiskey in his breath but it was softer than before, probably because she had a few drinks herself.

"It's a bit difficult to be completely honest, isn't it Clarisse?" he whispered.

She licked her dry lips, staring straight into his eyes. She said nothing, unable to speak. Taking a sharp intake of breath she could see so many consequences of his unspoken words. So often had she dreamed of a confession to him that would change her life forever. In her dreams and wildest fantasies, it always had a positive outcome. But this was real, a reality soon to turn her world upside down.

How could she ask him to say what was on both their minds? How could she even try to put into words what was in her heart, in her mind, in her soul? His hands felt warm on her cheeks and she swallowed, letting her gaze slide to his lips. How she longed to feel them on top of hers.

It had been so long since she'd done this, since she'd been intimate with a man, and she was oh so out of practice and nervous to the bone. If fate hadn't driven her to it, she'd have gone many more months, maybe even years, without feeling the touch of a man. This man. As her gaze slid back up to his eyes, then down to his sensual mouth once more, she heard his deep sigh. He felt what was on her mind, she should have known it.

"I feel I should warn you," he said in a hoarse tone as he pulled her face even closer to his. Her lips parted under his seductive stare and he couldn't tear his eyes away from them.

"Don't do things you will regret tomorrow."

Her breathing quickened. Feeling how her heart was getting caught in her throat, beating in a fast and almost painful rhythm, she started to tremble all over. If she had sense she'd leave now and stay away from him, but she was drawn to him by an invisible wire that wouldn't let go. Right now, she wasn't able to cut it.

"I regret many things that I've done." She could hardly speak and she cleared her throat; her voice seemed to have left her. "But the things I regret mostly are the things I haven't done."

She didn't even see his small approving nod, she was too much focused on his hands that slid carefully through her hair, his dark, dangerous enticing smell, and most of all his lips that were coming closer with each second that passed by. A tremor of dark, seductive pleasure shivered down her spine, rendering her helpless.

And there she felt his breath on her face, his lips gracing hers. The touch was so soft and so delicate that she wasn't even sure they touched. Nerves shot through her body but they were replaced quickly by a glorious sensation in her stomach. Unable to move, she only parted her lips lightly, somehow inviting him to take over and then…she froze.

She jerked back, as if something had stung her, as the loud, shrill sound of a cell phone pierced the silence. It kept going, each tone louder and more demanding than the one before.

Their heads turned simultaneously towards the nightstand where the phone kept ringing. Quickly, Joseph gazed at Clarisse, then back to the most hated object in his bedroom. Her sigh was deep, her eyes showing defeat. Joseph swore under his breath, letting his hands fall away from her glowing cheeks. Torn between duty and his heart once more.

Her voice seemed to come from far away. "You have to take it." It wasn't a question.

She sighed as she nodded at him. The delicious, passionate and warm feelings didn't leave now that his touch was removed, they only quieted a bit.

He stared a moment longer, then lifted himself off the bed. "I know," he said.

She pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut as Joseph opened the connection with the outside world. Her body felt tightly stiff, waiting, anticipating the inevitable sudden end to this evening. In a way it felt like an escape mixed with regret. Contradiction roared through her body.

"Check the system again, I can't...what? How many? Are you sure…?" Joseph sounded agitated, as the end result of this conversation was evident to them both.

Slowly, she got up from the warmth of the mattress, closing her robe tighter with one single move.

"Send Mike out. Surely he can take care of this? But..." He watched her go, slipping towards the door that would take her out and away from him, and there was nothing he could do.

With the handle in one hand she turned slightly, meeting his gaze. For a moment he feared he would see defeat or rejection in her eyes, but when she smiled knowingly at him, a soft blush gracing her cheeks, a boyish grin appeared on his lips. They had time. Love was finally on their path.

But the next morning, completely out of the blue, it happened.

_TBC…but be patient! _


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for your sweet comments! I'm sorry for being evil but it's so much fun to toy with them - I couldn't resist. This is the next chapter, I sure hope you'll like it. I'm writing every spare minute I have, which doesn't happen very often, but I promise to post the next chapter as soon as I'm done! Happy Holidays everybody! Love, Janet._

**Chapter three:**

The bright light of the two spots on her dressing table momentarily blinded her and she blinked in annoyance, yet she needed this revealing confrontation if she wanted to look her best. And that was her goal this evening.

Time for inspection. Slowly, she turned her face, exposing one cheek first and then the other. As she lifted her chin, bringing out her cheekbones as a result, she smiled with approval; that soothing mask she had taken before had done wonders for her tired skin. It was soft and smooth and for some reason it seemed to glow from within.

She reached out to her soothing day cream and massaged the soft fluid into her skin until it had absorbed it all. As she stared at her own reflection once more, she frowned a few times, raised her eyebrows and then finally she rolled her eyes and shook her head. The new little wrinkles she had discovered earlier that day, the ones right next to her eyes, wouldn't disappear no matter what she did. But that didn't matter really. It only meant her eyes were more expressive; at least that was what her mother had always said.

Her foundation was semi transparent, light enough to conceal what was needed, but it still accentuated the tiny freckles on her cheekbones. Her freckles. She heaved a deep sigh and swallowed as she continued applying her make up. Joseph had commented on her freckles once.

They had been back from France for two days now and she hadn't seen him or spoken to him since. With every hour that had passed, the turn of events of their last evening in Marseille seemed to have gotten more unlikely. It felt like everything had changed and yet, at the same time, had someone told her that it had all been a dream, she would have accepted that explanation, too.

He had driven her home, as usual, but they hadn't been alone in the car. A few times she had caught his stare in the rear view mirror, but his face revealed nothing. She admired his ability to hide his feelings from the outside world; a skill she herself possessed after so many years in the public eye. Joseph was discrete, she could trust that, but to not be able to communicate with him about what had happened between them, or rather what might have occurred...was highly confusing. She didn't know what he was thinking. Should she be hopeful? Or was it possible he felt regret about what had almost been a fact? She wished she knew him as well as he seemed to know her.

A wave of mixed feelings tore through her as she thought back on her confessions of being attracted to him. Nausea, nerves and delicious butterflies fought a maddening battle in her stomach. They all turned and twirled inside her body, dropping into her high heels and coming back up again.

In this instance, it seemed like he held a distinct power over her, a power she herself had thrown into his hands. She wasn't accustomed to handing it over and it frightened her. And he knew it frightened her, she was sure.

For two days straight, they hadn't spoken about it. They hadn't spoken about anything. There had been no possibility to meet up in private – too much work had been waiting for her when she got back. Joseph hadn't pursued a meeting either. She had hardly seen him, which made her confused state of mind even worse. But then, out of the blue, he had called her roughly an hour ago on her private phone telling her in his familiar husky voice that they needed to talk as soon as possible. He wondered if she would be willing to meet up with him somewhere private.

Her left hand was trembling slightly as she applied her eye shadow and she had to support her arm with her right hand. She worked quickly on the rest of her eye make up, in a seasoned act.

Yes she was willing to meet up with him, she had told him. An indescribable feeling, it was like thrill mixed with fear shot through her. She knew far too well that this evening could once again be a turning point for them both.

She bit her bottom lip, and then reached out to her shiny lipstick, a soft peachy color. She had agreed to meet him in her own suite, a proposition he had accepted after slight hesitation. He would be in her private domain within 15 minutes, a place she guarded as strongly as Joseph guarded her. Yet she didn't know where else to go, this conversation shouldn't, couldn't, be overheard by a third party.

After brushing lightly across her cheeks, applying a hint of blush, she placed down her tools and looked up into the mirror.

There she was. Clarisse Renaldi, Queen of Genovia. Waiting like a schoolgirl for her prom date to appear. She certainly felt like one.

After one last check into the mirror, she tucked her hair behind her ears and got up. It was official. She needed a cup of tea_. _

--------

How many excuses had he thought of to be able to meet up with her alone? Joseph's guess was hundreds. He hadn't slept a wink in two nights, ever since she had sent his heartbeat soaring with so much adrenalin that it was still shooting through his veins. He hadn't anticipated an encounter with her that night. Never had he expected her to expose her deepest feelings to him in the way she did. Never in his wildest dreams had he believed he would see the passion he felt for her reflected in her eyes. If the experience of holding her face in the safety of his hands hadn't been as mind-blowing as it was, he would never have accepted it for the truth. They had been close, so very close to changing both their lives forever. It was a wonderful feeling albeit slightly daunting because he knew now that, once tempted, he would never be strong enough to resist her again. One more moment in private would be enough for him to break once more; having had a touch of passion only awakened more inside of him. It had been sweet torture to be with her before, not knowing her feelings, but now it was unbearable. Because of their inability to be alone, he had been avoiding her despite his yearning for her, knowing that the passion she had evoked needed an outlet. Because how could he control himself in her presence, knowing how it felt to hold her, knowing what she had been willing to give him?

But then, that afternoon, the reason to speak to her had forced itself on him. There was no escaping this; there was only one way to do this.

As he knocked on her door, she immediately responded in her oh so recognizable voice.

"It's open."

He had been in her suite before of course, but never unaccompanied, for obvious reasons. Entering it alone now, especially under their present circumstances, felt thrilling, as if somehow forbidden. But her smile was inviting, and he held his breath when she walked towards him. It was her dress that stunned him immediately, that tight-fitting peach colored dress that did not hide her curves; it was only serving as a covering layer for what was beneath its clinging fabric. The skirt ended at her knees, revealing enough of her silk covered legs to make him swallow hard. A simple necklace, made of sheer white pearls, rested on her collarbones and the delicate shine momentarily caught his attention. Her hips swayed with each step closer she took, closer to where he was standing.

"Good evening, Joseph," she said smiling somewhat shyly, as she extended her hand. There was no jewelry on her fingers or her wrist. Her hand was shaking lightly, he noticed it immediately.

He smiled briefly at her, hiding his nerves. "Your Majesty." He lowered his head and kissed her hand, like he had done so many times before. But this time, just as she attempted to pull away, he held on to her hand without thinking, squeezing it softly. "Hello, Clarisse."

The tone was set. A soft blush appeared on her cheeks as she looked at him, her teeth showing in that familiar, perfect smile. "Hello Joseph," she said, feeling grateful for the way he approached her. For a moment they stood there in a peaceful silence until she looked away; it was too hard to stare into those dark eyes without losing her composure.

"Alone at last," he said calmly as she turned around to head towards the dark sofa.

"Yes, we've been rather busy haven't we?" she said in a light tone. Deep inside, nerves were twirling up and down her entire body, finally reaching her throat that slowly tightened.

"Yes, very busy." He was hesitating to enter the room completely, she felt it. The awkwardness of the moment was not lost on her. Suddenly she noticed the rather large envelope he was holding in his hands. She looked up at him with surprise; was this meeting simply about business? Unable to hide the disappointment in her voice, she asked: "Do you need my signature for something?"

He shook his head, throwing her a pensive gaze. "No," he then said as he approached her so he came to stand right in front of her. "But there's something you need to see."

She raised a brow in concern at his serious tone, immediately on guard. As she sat down on the sofa, she braced herself for what she instinctively felt was going to be unpleasant news. "What is it?"

He sat down next to her, fiddling with the envelope that seemed to get heavier and more loaded by the second. "It was delivered to the palace this afternoon. Clarisse, just remember that it's as old as yesterday's…" He paused for a moment when she ripped the envelope out of his hand, "…news."

Her eyes widened. "What on earth?" she gasped as she glanced quickly at the shiny covers of the three magazines that were in the envelope. Pictures of her and Joseph. Pictures of her face in close up, looking at him with a smile on her face that didn't leave much to the imagination. One picture of them dancing, smiling, having fun with each other. And the captions... Intense feelings of embarrassment coursed through her in cold, heavy waves. "What on earth?" she repeated, more to herself than to Joseph. "Who took these pictures? When were they taken anyway?"

He sighed deeply. "Judging by the surroundings, I guess one of the photographers sneaked in after the press conference in France. Clarisse, try not…"

"_Queen courts staff in Marseille,"_ she read out loud, ignoring Joseph. _"Queen courts staff?"_

"Yes, but…"

"How did they get hold of these?" she snapped, not necessarily at him, with her eyes glued to the pictures.

"They were published in Marseille the day we left France," he said, attempting to take the magazines away from her. "The Genovian press simply copied and translated their articles, I think."

She avoided his hands and got up, reading every nauseating word. _"Queen Clarisse is known for her personal approach and great warmth and charm. Picture above proves that fact." _She swallowed; reading it in this context didn't make it seem a compliment. Rather something cheesy, cheap and dirty. Her cheeks were burning, her stomach turning inside her.

He lifted himself off the sofa, too. "It's not even a story Clarisse, it's just…gossip. Slanderous speculation on their part."

"Gossip," she said, turning a page. "Just gossip," she repeated. She skimmed through the article and her cheeks seemed to be glued to her tongue; that's how dry her mouth suddenly felt. She read aloud again, her outrage growing at every stomach turning word. _"Queen Clarisse has always enjoyed unusual closeness and great loyalty from her staff - has it reached new heights? A 'personal' bodyguard in every sense?"_

He said nothing; he didn't have to because she wasn't listening anyway. Her voice became louder. "I demand a retraction! Get Phil on the phone, I want this handled as soon as possible!"

He moved closer towards her, trying to catch her glance but to no avail. She kept staring at the magazines. "Clarisse…I really don't think your press agent needs to do much damage control."

"_Merry Widow on the hunt." _She gasped, not able to keep her voice down_._ "They can't get away with this!" She looked at him directly now and her voice was raw, a trembling tone revealing her anger. With her finger she patted on the first magazine. "Who are they to judge? They can't just print anything they desire!"

He approached her, his face serious. "With all due respect Clarisse, if you demand a retraction, it will only make matters worse. The public will think you do have something to hide. Ignoring it is usually the best way to handle the press. You know how that works."

She threw the words at him, cold and straightforward. "So I just let them ruin my reputation, is that what you're suggesting? I sit here and wait for them to come for the fatal blow?"

She almost laughed, but the situation lacked any humor. "Do you know what this says? That rather than you keeping me safe and secure all these years – that I 'keep' you! It says we've been carrying on for years! What is next if I let them get away with this?"

"They have nothing on you, they can't print more!" Begging her to listen, he took her by her shoulders and attempted to turn her towards him. Immediately she pulled away from him and stepped back, reading on, leaving him standing there empty handed. Her rejection hit him to the bone but he tried again to reason with her. "Stop and think for a moment Clarisse, it's just speculation, they have no evidence, nothing!"

"Oh for God's sake Joseph, wake up! Do you even know what this means?" Her face had now turned a ghostly white and she slammed the pile of magazines on her side table. "Do you have _any_ idea what this will do to my reputation?"

He spoke softly on purpose, but a tremble had undeniably formed in his throat. Anger was slowly getting hold of him, too. "This is inconvenient, I know, but let's not overreact."

She stared at him in disbelief and for a moment her legs didn't seem to be able to carry her any longer. "Inconvenient?"

"Clarisse…"

She took a step closer. "Inconvenient? _Just_ gossip? Do you have any idea how hard my family has worked to protect the Royal Family's name all these years? How we've lived our entire lives avoiding the kind of scandal that these awful papers love to write about? And yet they choose to do this to us anyway?"

He almost rolled his eyes but held back at the last moment. The last thing he wanted was to anger her more, although the urge to defend himself was slowly forming. He realized she was projecting her anger towards the media onto him, but it was hard to accept her accusations.

"I know you are angry and I understand, but try to see things in perspective. You're blowing this way out of proportion."

Shaking her head she kept staring at him and suddenly the urge to yell and fight leaked away. Trembling still, she turned around; unable to look at him any longer. He just didn't understand and how could he? How could he know what this meant to her personally, how humiliated she was? Everybody had seen these pictures by now; her entire staff, her family back home and the founders of the Children's center back in Marseille. Not to mention every citizen of Genovia who used to look up to her and admire her. Her safely guarded decorum was surely tainted now in their eyes. And for what?

Watching her struggling with herself, he drew a shaky breath. It had taken her so long to finally drop her guard; it must have been so hard for her to be honest about her feelings for him – and now this. Her most private feelings unmasked and on display in public before she had even had a chance to truly acknowledge them herself. Within a matter of minutes the wall she had spent years building around her inner self was back up and more solid and unbreakable than ever before. Slowly, he moved forward so he came to stand behind her. Instinctively he lifted his hands to place them on her shoulders. Yet, he reconsidered and lowered them immediately; he knew her well enough to not try and touch her again. Not now. "Clarisse," he tried again, hoping she had calmed down enough to be able to communicate with him. "Why are you so angry about this? You know there is a good chance it will all blow over in a few weeks."

For a moment she said nothing but then she breathed deeply. How could she start explaining to him the feelings that went through her, the second she saw the photos and the suggestive captions underneath? For her entire life, she had been trying to live up to the expectations of people. First her parents, then her friends, her husband, her children and ultimately, her entire country.

All through the years, the press has always been a predator to keep in open view. She knew that. They had hounded her family for so many years, had never found any hint of scandal, and yet they had always persisted. They hadn't left her alone, not once, not even through the most difficult moments of her life. And what was worse, her personal pain seemed to feed their appetite for gossip even more. Yet she had dealt with them over and over again, respectfully, dutifully – often beating them at their own game. Not once had she given them something, anything, to use against her or her family. It had cost her more energy than she had at times, but she had pulled through. For the nation. For her children. And now this. It was as if she had finally walked right into their trap.

Her saying nothing worried him deeply, this was getting out of hand. "Tell me something," he said, "pretend for a moment that it's not me in this picture but, oh, Prime Minister Motaz or someone like that. Would you have minded it so much?"

For a second she was speechless but then she shook her head, walking away from him, further into her suite. "This is ridiculous. Why does it matter who it is?"

He followed her, not willing to drop the subject. "Think about it Clarisse, if it hadn't been me in that picture you would have laughed about it all."

Her tone was ice cold. "Stop it."

"You would have made a joke about it and moved on."

"Stop."

"So there's no need for you to jump in defense. Laugh about it and move on, it's the press!"

"I cannot laugh about it!" She didn't turn around but her attitude said enough about her feelings.

She sighed deeply, covering her face with her hands as an overwhelming tiredness swept through her. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. "My God," she whispered, "….what have I done?"

The words had escaped his lips before he realized it. "But Clarisse….nothing even happened between us." When he saw her reaction, he immediately realized he had made a huge mistake.

Instantly, she turned around to face him. Her breathing was uncontrolled and she stared at him, her eyes full of hurt_. _It struck him how pale her skin was, how full of pain those usually warm blue eyes were. Her voice was low, seemingly calm, but a tremble in her throat revealed her emotions.

"Do you call what happened in Marseille nothing, Joseph? _Nothing?_" She whispered the last word as if she could hardly believe what he had said.

He shook his head in frustration. "I don't mean it like that, you know that."

She came a step closer and looked straight into his eyes. "Then how did you mean it, Joseph?" Her eyes flashed with sudden anger, as she lashed out at him. "Here I am, looking like a fool in front of the entire country – in front of you -- and it meant _nothing_ to you?" Anger and dismay were reflected in her face, as she started to turn away. "All of this, for nothing?"

This time around he didn't take the time to consider her reaction and with one quick movement he pulled her into his arms. He was so close to her now that he could feel the tremor in her entire body. "Calm down," he said in her ear, his voice low.

If possible, her body tensed up even more. She tried to wiggle herself free but his hold on her tightened. "Let go of me," she hissed. "Now."

"Calm down, so we can talk about it," he repeated. "Please."

She was resisting but could not free herself from his firm grasp. And slowly, against her will as it seemed, her body let go some of the tension. Feeling his arms around her had an impact on her, as much as she tried to resist it.

"Please calm down," he said once more. He noticed the change in her, as slight as it was.

"It's all right. I promise this will be alright"

To her horror, her throat tightened and quickly she covered her eyes with one trembling hand. There was no denying it. Those pictures showed the world how she felt about this man. If it were obvious to Joseph back in Marseille and obvious to the photographer who took the shots, it would also be obvious to everyone who saw the magazines. So foolish, full of trust, she had lowered her defenses for once in her life and had enjoyed that evening as herself; simply as Clarisse. She should have known better that the never sleeping predator was waiting for that one second when she let down her guard. For once, they were absolutely right in their gossip and speculation, and she couldn't even fight them for sharing it with the world. This knowledge humiliated her to the bone and she felt exposed in the worst way possible.

"Nothing is right about this situation Joseph," she said softly against his shoulder. "Nothing at all."

"Shhh…" He slid his arms across her back and pulled her even closer in his embrace. After a few heart-wrenching seconds in which she didn't respond, he felt her arms sliding around his shoulders, as she buried herself in his arms. "Clarisse, they don't know what you do in your private life. It's speculation," he said once again, desperately trying to make her see.

Her sound was a bit hoarse, showing defeat and she hugged him even tighter. "I've never been able to live my life in private Joseph, why did I think now would be any different?"

His hand stroked her back, soothing her. "Tomorrow these articles will end up in thousands of litter boxes across the country. Trust me."

He expected some kind of smile at the very least, but it never came. "I can't," she said, her voice high and full of emotion.

He pulled back, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were red and swollen, yet she hadn't shed a tear just yet. "Why not?"

"Because…" Her voice was on the verge of breaking; she heard it and she couldn't change it. "Because I can't give them what they want. They won't ever let go now that they smell blood."

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Tears formed into her eyes but they didn't fall. "I've been fighting this my entire life, Joseph. I'm so tired of fighting."

Silence fell. Joseph stared at her and quickly connected matters. The only conclusion he could make devastated him. "So what are you saying? Are you… ending things between us?"

With all her strength, she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat to regain her composure. And after yet another loaded moment of silence, she smiled sadly. "No," she said, shaking her head. One tear found its way across her cheek. "It hadn't even started."


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm here! You still want me to? I know it took me forever but believe me when I say that january...well...sucked for me. Too many things happened and took my time - yet now I'm here and ready to update! Thank you for all your sweet comments so far and I can only hope you're still with me. _

*

**_One week later_**

Joseph went through the pages of the protocol once more, his brows furrowed in confusion. He shook his head, read what he couldn't believe once again and then looked up. "You can't be serious! Sam isn't ready to carry this kind of responsibility!" he said to his colleague.

"I'm afraid so, sir. Her Majesty was very clear when I spoke to her." Shades' voice was soft, but his tone was professional, as always. If he knew what had happened two weeks ago in France, he did not show it to his superior.

"When was this discussed?" Joseph asked, barely able to keep his voice down.

"She asked me to discuss the protocol with her this afternoon. Sir, if I may…Sam may be young, but he is well trained and…"

He had made his decision already and didn't wait for his colleague to finish his sentence. "Bullshit," he said, forgetting all about maintaining his decorum. He slammed the door shut behind him as he left the Security Center in outrage. "He's not going to this Gala and that's final."

As he paced through the grand hallways of the palace, Joseph formed his hands into fists. This was leading to disaster, he felt it. These past two weeks had been a roller coaster ride for him, and this seemed to be the final indignity, a nauseating one at that. Had it really come to this? Was he not even allowed to do his job anymore?

Those bloody magazines. Those damned paparazzi. There had been no way for him to hide the articles from her, but if he could have gotten away with it, he would have done it. After their talk about the press, Clarisse seemed to have shut herself off from him completely. There was no way for him to get through to her, no matter what he did. He had been allowed to come closer to her than she had allowed anyone near her in years, but now….all that had changed.

He turned a corner, almost bumping into two of his colleagues, but he didn't take the time to greet them. Anger surged through his body. Not once since their final talk had she allowed him to speak to her privately. And still there was so much left to say. He had tried, oh how he had tried to talk some reason into her. But her decision had been made, much to his dismay.

In a way he wasn't surprised by her reaction to the press attacks; he had expected her to retreat from him. She had been deeply embarrassed by the press reports, as well as extremely hurt and angry. She had put up a wall between them immediately, and for now, it appeared that there was no chance of him attempting to tear it down again. The realization that his dreams, his hopes, were so close to becoming a wonderful reality had spun his world around until he was dizzy. But her decision to close the door for him, for the both of them was devastating. The heartbreaking knowledge that she was honestly trying to ignore what was so alive between them was unbearable. Being cut off from her had ripped his heart in two; in fact this whole ordeal hurt him more than he could possible dare to admit to himself. He had stayed away from her, what other choice did he have? If he tried with all his strength, he might be able to tuck away their personal connection, the love he still felt for her, whenever they spoke in public. The staff would never know about what once had been such a wonderful possibility between them. He had realized straight away that one of Clarisse's direct fears was about those closest to her – those in her personal circle. She could not bear the thought that, because of her perceived indiscretions, they might somehow think less of their Queen. He would protect her, it would be their secret until time allowed memories to fade.

But as days went by, he came to realize that the consequences went much further than he had anticipated. Now they even reached the professional border, which frustrated and angered him more than he could express. She was jeopardizing her own safety now, all because of the press and their toxic pictures and words, and that he simply could not allow.

As he reached the door to her office, he knocked on it before he even stood still. After a few seconds, it swung open and he looked directly into Charlotte's eyes – Clarisse's loyal assistant. "Hello Joe," she smiled, and for a second he saw a flash of compassion in her eyes. Somehow he had the impression that this lady knew more than she let anyone believe.

"Is she in?" he asked in a short tone. In the past, he never had to make an appointment for a private meeting with the Queen. If he wanted to speak to her alone, all he had to do was look at her for a moment longer than needed and usually, a meeting would occur within a matter of hours.

Suddenly, Clarisse appeared behind Charlotte. For a second, her gaze reflected both surprise and delight at seeing him. Yet immediately, even before he had time to smile at her, she composed herself and the look faded as quickly as it had appeared. He wasn't even sure if he had seen it correctly. "Come in, Joseph." Her regal tone was back, he heard it immediately in her voice.

As he entered her office, he was once again struck by the difference with his own office, which was something of a cross between a military base, a library and a gym. Clarisse's office was almost cozy with the antique panels on the walls, the cream colored rug on the pale looking floor, the heavy chandelier above their heads and the everlasting fresh bouquet of flowers right on top of her neatly organized desk.

Clarisse herself stood in front of her bookcase now, which was filled with more than just books. He saw framed pictures and again more flowers, yet nothing seemed to be out of place.

"What is it, Joseph?" she asked, her tone not revealing any emotion whatsoever. "Charlotte, do hand me that organizer, would you?"

It was getting harder for him to control his temper, as frustration roared through his body. And yet utter frustration wasn't the emotion that overruled his reason at that moment. His love for her, his want and need for her, was still stronger than anything he felt. He had tried to push it all way in the past weeks, but one look at her beautiful face was enough to feel it boiling deep inside of him once again.

"I'd like to discuss tomorrow's protocol, _Your Majesty_," he stated, emphasizing the last words. He kept looking directly at her, inwardly pleading with her to do this in private. He needed to speak with her honestly; he needed her to understand what was at stake, the unnecessary risk she was taking simply because of the circumstances between them. If she would only grant him this, it would make life easier for the both of them.

"I believe Shades knows all the details already?" she said as she looked at him for the first time now, peeking over the rim of her reading glasses.

He pressed his lips in annoyance. "With all due respect, ma'am, Shades is not in charge," he said. He didn't say more but held on to her gaze, trying to find at least a glimpse of what she was hiding inside. All he found was something he had seen so many times on her before, a quality that Clarisse possessed more than anyone he knew. Determination.

"I don't think we should change plans at the last moment, do you?" she asked, glancing down at the organizer that Charlotte handed her. She opened it and went through the pages quickly. "Ah, found it."

"In fact, I absolutely do." His frustration had almost reached its limit, and he stated this in such a stern tone that both women looked up from their books. Quickly, Charlotte's gaze went from her colleague to her employer, feeling the tension that had arisen so suddenly. "Your Majesty, do you want me to…"

"Yes," Joseph stated.

"No, it's all right Charlotte. Carry on please." Clarisse's tone was light, almost casual but then she looked straight into his eyes, warning him, almost begging him, silently. Her blonde assistant stayed put, but looked down as she wrote something on her notepad.

He felt her rejection deep down in his stomach, but he carried on. "Your Majesty, you can't attend this gala with just one bodyguard. Let alone a bodyguard who isn't qualified to handle this kind of responsibility." He had to be careful, he knew her well enough to know that the last thing he should be doing right now, was show his impatience with her.

For a moment she stared at him, a pensive gaze on her face. "Joseph, I shall be among friends. Surely you don't think I'll be in any direct danger during this event?"

"Doesn't matter," he said. "Sam isn't qualified yet. Ma'am, I strongly suggest…"

"All right," she said, interrupting him. "You are probably right."

For a brief moment, his body seemed to let go of some of the tension. He hesitated as she walked away from him and sat down behind her desk. He took a dare and smiled briefly at her, desperately trying to soften things between them. "So?" he asked.

She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, avoiding his stare and his smile doing so. "So, Shades will accompany me."

For a moment he was speechless but he couldn't protest, she had him right where she wanted him. With his back against the wall. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll see to it," he managed to utter through gritted teeth before he turned around and left her office. He didn't even bother to close the door behind him.

For one awful, long moment, neither women spoke. Clarisse lowered her hand and picked up her pen again, writing down something totally useless just so she didn't have to meet her assistant's gaze. This was what she had been hoping to avoid; a useless confrontation and more frustration for the both of them. It had already cost her so many nights of tossing and turning, not knowing how to control this situation. She had no doubt whatsoever that attending this gala, with Joseph by her side, would feed the press. No matter what she would do, ignore him, act professionally towards him, be nice to him…everything would be a reason for them to print more slanderous speculation about them. She could not allow that to happen again. Her carelessness…her intense feelings about this man had fueled this media frenzy. She had to put an end to it. Although it tore her apart, it felt like the only decision she could make. What choice did she have but to ignore her heart – as she had done so many times before?

"Your Majesty, I…"

Charlotte's voice pulled her out of her pondering and she looked up, forcing a professional smile upon her lips. "Mmm?"

For a second Charlotte's eyes were soft and full of understanding. But before she could say anything concerning the matter, Clarisse prevented her from doing so. "You know what Charlotte? I would like some tea."

----------

Her bed was cold, utterly cold in fact, and she rubbed her bare feet over her satin sheet in an attempt to warm them up. But to no avail. Her entire body was cold from head to toe, even the warm bath she had taken before hadn't warmed more than just her skin. This cold seemed to come from within and if she were honest, she knew exactly where it came from.

The Grand Gala of that evening was in fact, the highlight of the year for the High Society. She had seen countless women wearing floor length dresses, designed especially for them. Their jewels had sparkled in the evening light, complimenting their class and elegance. The faceless men who accompanied them across the dance floor all wore tuxedoes, one more betting fitting than the next. There had been enough champagne to fill a pool and she had tasted the most exquisite hors d'oeuvres that had melted on her tongue. She had laughed, danced endlessly, talked and interacted with everyone in attendance until the early hours of the morning and despite the pretty picture she knew she had painted…she hadn't enjoyed herself in the least. Although she hadn't been alone for even a moment throughout the entire evening, despite the gaiety of the event and her feigned enjoyment of the proceedings, never had she felt more lonely, more miserable or more vulnerable in her life. And she knew all too well that it was that overwhelming feeling of loneliness that now gave her that cold sensation between the usually warm sheets.

She turned to her side, pulling her knees up in a useless attempt to warm herself. As she had expected, the press had shown up like a vicious threatening army. They had been lined up in front of the ballroom, gathering proof of any scandal they could find. Or, even more so, any scandal they could come up with. Anger had filled her body as she was posing in front of them, but all she could do was smile. She smiled for the photographers and, as a result, the readers of those dreadful papers: the citizens of Genovia, the people she was trying to serve. She was smiling when the pictures were taken but she was swearing on the inside, all the while missing the warm presence of the man who was her best friend behind her. All because of them. But she had pulled through, years of training coming to her rescue. She would never let them know the price they had made her pay.

She hid her eyes behind her cold hands. Oh, Joseph. His name echoed in her head like a mantra. Joseph, dear Joseph… Granted, it had only been two weeks but she had hoped, prayed, that with time, it would become easier. Her feelings towards him hadn't melted away though; in fact his absence had only increased her want and need for him.

Seeing him quite unexpectedly in her office yesterday had only served to further spark her longing for him. She hadn't even been able to look straight at him, fearing she would break if she'd met those familiar eyes, which were surely full of hurt because of her actions. And she couldn't break, not in front of Charlotte or anyone else on her staff. After he had left her office, she hadn't seen him anymore. And with reason, she had realized, because her choice to bring Shades to this grand Gala had probably caused him even more hurt than it had caused herself. And now she had to worry about Shades as well; it must have surprised him too, he must have drawn his conclusions as well. The mess, the chaos, was complete.

But oh, did Joseph have any idea how much she was hurting, too? Did he even realize how much she dreaded her position at times? Did he know that all through the night at the Gala, subconsciously her eyes had searched for him, only to realize each time that she herself had pushed him away? Did he know how much she longed to be with him and how much it hurt to know that she had to stay away from him?

She shivered. It wasn't just her passionate feelings for him; it wasn't just about the fire he had stoked underneath her desire. She had convinced herself that she must live without that electrifying spark in her life; she had done it before and must do it again. What hurt her just as much, it had hit her in the face the entire evening, was missing his friendship; his advice, his warmth and his guidance. Every time she had searched for him, his absence had tied her stomach into a knot. Tighter and more nauseating each time she couldn't find him, each time she wasn't able to feel his comforting gaze resting on her. Missing that almost felt like missing an arm or leg; somehow she wasn't complete without it. Somehow she had come to realize how much she had depended on Joseph at social gatherings like the previous evening. How much she was used to having his company, his warmth, so close. How easy it had been to enter a room with him following her, he made everything easier by just being there, always within arm's reach. His presence entailed so much more than just protecting and serving the Queen. He made her feel secure on a personal level; she could trust him to be there for her, because he wanted to be. And now, that dreadful press had stolen him from her. They had stolen not only her best friend…but also the promise, the hope for so much more.

She shivered once more, closing her eyes in desperation. She knew that at least for the time being, at least until the press had loosened their leash on her, she would have to live without his friendship also, and that thought was devastating. Would she ever be able to win his friendship, that sense of security, back? She highly doubted it. Right now, in that cold solitude of her bed, she doubted everything.

"Your Majesty?"

The young woman's soft voice on the other end of her bedroom door tore on her consciousness and she moaned softly. Was it morning already?

"I apologize for waking you, but you asked me to wake you at seven. Good morning."

"Good morning," she croaked, clearing her voice. "Thank you Olivia, come in."

She sat up straight and stretched her sore back; she couldn't say that this had been a soothing night for her. In fact, had she slept at all? She didn't even know.

"Your breakfast and tea is on your coffee table." Olivia moved through her bedroom like any other morning, opening the heavy dark drapes in front of the windows. The morning sun peeked inside and Clarisse shut her eyes for it; usually she would welcome it but now the bright light almost annoyed her.

"Thank you, Olivia," she said, forcing a graceful smile on her face although a small headache was undeniably forming.

"Your Majesty…" Somehow her young maid hesitated to speak further and Clarisse caught the uncomfortable look that shone in her eyes.

"Is everything all right dear?" she asked.

After a moment of silence, an almost apologetic smile appeared on Olivia's face and she nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Enjoy your breakfast."

Her young maid left the room and Clarisse sighed deeply as she got up and started her morning routine. But when she entered her suite and made her way to her breakfast, her breath suddenly caught in her throat. Right next to the tray with her breakfast was the morning paper and the headlines seemed to scream at her from afar, making her stomach turn inside her.

_**"Majestic, Moneyed and Miserable."** _

Swallowing hard, she studied the picture underneath the headlines. She had posed for the press but she did not remember this moment. Once again they had caught her off guard for one second and twisted it serve their own purposes. She read the captions again, her mouth dry. _"Majestic, Moneyed and Miserable."_

She tried to read the attached article but she stopped; her headache getting stronger with each word she read. Nausea shot through her as a result; causing her to feel like the toxic words in the paper. Miserable.

Denial shot through her as she tossed the paper aside and her legs shook underneath her. This couldn't be real. This simply wasn't happening.

What on earth had happened to the world, that a handful of strangers thought they were able to describe her inner emotions, based on one simple picture? Had she become this transparent? Or was this affecting her so because they said what she was afraid to admit to herself? Were they right? Was there no escape from this? Was she so miserable without him that she couldn't function like her normal self anymore? Wasn't she able to keep up the façade any longer? 

Trembling still, she picked up the paper again and straightened the page so she could try and read again. Blinking fiercely, and with a pounding heart, she skimmed through the article.

"_Queen Clarisse attended the Gala unaccompanied. Where was her smile? Back home with Mr. Right?" _

It was then that she noticed the second paper attached to the first, both so brand new that they practically stuck together. She glanced at the two pictures that were so conveniently placed next to each other. One showing her smile, her face radiant and happy. The other emphasizing her sadness and hurt. _"A Tale of Two Queens,"_ it said. Swallowing hard, she read on.

"_The Crown Jewels sadly can't buy her love. Queen Clarisse bathes in wealth, but all the money in the world can't buy her happiness. Will we see her delighted smile again in the near future? Is our Queen meant to be single forever more? Either way, being alone is clearly taking its toll on the ever so radiant Queen Clarisse."_

She closed her eyes and lowered the paper. Oh sweet Lord. They were right indeed.

---------

Peace of mind. He needed, he yearned for even a little peace of mind. Having searched everywhere for some comfort, even his excessive work out hadn't helped, he finally ended up in the large garden. It was Clarisse's garden, where the deep, sweet smell of roses greeted him, perfuming the air.

A breeze blew off the ocean and found him, it was salty and damp and he inhaled it deeply. It did not refresh his soul as he had hoped. There were no lights to brighten the paths this evening. No lights to guide him, to help him through the darkness that seemed to fall earlier each day.

As he walked deeper into the Palace Garden, he could feel the crunch of sand under his feet. In the background, coming from afar, he could hear the low and steady thunder of waves hitting the beach. But he didn't savor the sound like he usually did.

He sat down on a stone bench, pressed his fingers against his eyes and wished more than anything else for the simple thing that everybody seemed to possess but him. Normality.

He needed sleep to be normal, he realized. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in ages. And he needed regular meals, yet his appetite had sunk down to below zero. To his utter frustration, he didn't seem able to pull through this alone. He knew he needed someone to confide in and he certainly had friends, but no one close enough to call to console him. And even if he had, he would never betray Clarisse's trust to spill his guts to a third party.

Rubbing his face, he remembered how he felt whenever he saw her. The leap his heart made when she entered a room, the smile that he felt on his mouth, even though his face needed to be straight. How warm his stomach became whenever she was near. How much he loved her. Slowly, he opened his eyes, once again realizing his current location wasn't going to help him think of other things. Maybe he should go back to his suite and watch TV until the wee hours of the morning. Perhaps he could try to focus on other people's problems, fictional or not.

The wind changed directions and it was then that he heard her voice. For a moment he doubted his senses. Had it gone this far that he even heard her when she wasn't around? He turned sharply and stared down the path, his ears focusing. There was no mistake. Somewhere out there was Clarisse. And she sounded agitated.

"…_Darling,...no, … fine."_

He took a few steps closer in the direction of her voice; acting on impulse. Finding her voice. Suddenly he knew where she had to be and found his way; she was where she always went to find some peace and quiet. The horses would never hold anything against her, she always said. How fitting that was in light of recent events, he realized. As he stared through the dark leaves of an oak tree that covered the small path that lead to the stables, he saw her leaning against the wooden wall. A long, dark black coat covered her slim body and she was talking through a cell phone. She frowned while she listened to the voice at the other end, her hand toying with the stiff fabric of her coat. Then, she spoke.

"_One more time, I'm fine, Pierre, honestly. You know better than to believe anything you read in the papers. Who knows where they get their wretched ideas?" He watched as she put her hand to her face and rubbed her eyes." By next week, they'll probably be on to something else."_

Her laugh, meant to convince her son that all was well, was soft -- but it sounded as loud as a gunshot to his ears. His eyes drifted shut. The true irony of her words was not lost on him, and it was unsettling to the core. Here she was, telling her son what he, Joseph, had been trying to make her understand from the beginning. Ever since the information printed in the papers had forced them apart. Ever since she had allowed it to force them apart. The articles in the papers meant nothing…they weren't to be believed. And yet…she hadn't listened to him. And he knew she was lying to Pierre now.

She had seemingly jumped at the chance to break it off. It had been his biggest fear when she had shown up in his bedroom in France; that she would need and find an excuse to walk away. She wouldn't regret being with him, she had said. Her son had to ignore the press, she had said. She didn't know where they got their ideas, she had said. Lies, all lies. Anger boiled up inside of him, tightening his throat. How tempting it was to confront her, to let his anger scream away the pain in his heart, to tell her how wrong all of this was… but oh, he couldn't. To intrude on her privacy, to possibly hurt her even more was against his nature…and so he walked away.

"_No darling! God no, don't be silly!"_

He heard her voice getting louder, more insistent, and instinctively, he turned his head slightly. Something was wrong.

"_Because I don't want you to Pierre. I can handle this."_

She was dismissing her son's offer to help her, he recognized her tone immediately. Somehow he could imagine how frustrated Pierre must feel at times. How frustrated the people closest to her often had felt. He was living it now.

"_Thank you darling, I will. I love you too, bye bye."_

He froze in his tracks; now would be the time to speak to her alone. If he wanted to, he had to act now. He had to have his say in the matter, one way or the other. He had to act now.

Slowly, he turned and made his way over to the stables, seeing how she leaned with her back against the old wood. She had not seen him yet he realized, and he was about to step into the light when he heard her. A high sound came from her throat, she hid her face behind her hands, and when he realized what was happening, it tore his heart in two.

Clarisse was crying.

He'd never seen her cry before. Not like this. That sudden realization left him staring at her with a strange sense of compassion and shock. Her shoulders jolted slightly at first, but then she let go completely, sobbing louder. Where her laugh had sounded like a gunshot before, her cry almost killed him.

She was standing there, lowering her hands, and unknowingly revealing that were red and narrowed. Telling him in the most natural way, that she was hurting, too. Even more than he could realize. She hadn't made this decision solemnly for herself; he should have known that. She believed she was protecting them both, protecting her family. That realization made him want to kneel beside her and embrace her, to calm her down and offer her reassurance. And yet he stayed put, waiting. But he looked away, not looking at her again until the sobbing had come to a halt.

Silence was all there was left, a loaded, maddening, hurtful silence. Now he did look up. Squaring her shoulders and heaving a deep sigh, he gradually saw the Queen in her returning. He knew her well enough to not confront her right there and then. With tears still streaking her cheeks, she would surely retreat to a level where he'd never be able to reach her. No, he would have to meet her on her terms, when she was ready to face him.

Suddenly, he realized that there was only one way to handle this.

*

_TBC...._

_love, Janet. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello everybody, this is the last chapter of Press Release. Thank you so much for reading and waiting for updates. Sorry it took me so long but my personal life needed my full attention for a while. I'm back on track now and the first thing I did was write write write! I hope you'll enjoy the outcome of this story. __I sure had fun dreaming it up. __Here we go:_

Her reflection stared at her in the bathroom mirror and she sighed; she looked terrible. Her eyes, red and swollen, were still burning. Exhaustion had taken her in its grasp and all she wanted now, was sleep. Finally a good night's sleep with an empty head. Anything but having to feel the pain inside her. It shouldn't have to be this hard. Life shouldn't have to be this hard. She wanted to be normal.

A wild thought suddenly welled up inside her, making her close her eyes. Leave. Sometimes the urge was so strong…sometimes she simply wanted to leave. Start a new life, leaving everything behind. Get into Joseph's car, grab hold of his hand and let him drive to the border, crossing it to never return home. To find the ocean, to walk through the mountains, anywhere where they would be able to wake up next to each other each day. Without restrictions, without borders, without press, without responsibilities.

Shaking her head with force, she squeezed her eyes shut. Stop. She needed to stop this minute.

Turning off the light in the bathroom, she headed towards her bed. On her nightstand, glowing in the dark, was her cell phone. The temptation to call Pierre back was strong; she felt the need to truly convince him that she was all right. Even though it would be a lie. Pierre had sensed her heartache, a realization that made her stomach turn inside her. Her children weren't meant to see her weaknesses; she had made that decision a long time ago. Strong, she needed to be strong. For them, for everyone. Sadly, her being strong brought a whole lot of misery in its wake.

Reaching out to her cell phone, she reconsidered and pulled away. Emphasizing her well-being would have the opposite effect on Pierre; she knew him. She rested her head on her pillow, closing her eyes, hoping that dawn would come soon. Sleep caught up with her earlier than she had anticipated, and soon her breathing became deep and steady. A dreamless sleep took her away. Finally.

The loud buzzing made her open her eyes sharply and for a moment she didn't know where she was; darkness surrounded her. Only the sharp light coming from the side of her bed pulled her back to the here and now. Her cell phone went off again, each tone more demanding than the last. Her head seemed to be filled with cotton, being robbed from her sleep so suddenly. Her body begged her to shut off her phone and go back to sleep but her heart yearned for a connection, somewhere, somehow. And so she reached out with a trembling hand. Knowing who it was before she even spoke.

"Hello?"

"Clarisse, I beg of you, don't hang up please."

Her throat tightened; she recognized his voice immediately. Joseph. Her stomach warmed inside her, despite the reservations that popped up in her head. "I wasn't going to," she said softly.

"Thank you," he said. "If this is the only way to speak to you in private, this is what it's gonna be."

"Oh," she said stupidly, inwardly scolding herself for not being more eloquent. "What time is it?"

"Late, too late, and I apologize," he muttered. "But I have to get it out. It's driving me insane."

A shiver shot down her spine. "What is it?" she asked.

"Clarisse, if I may, you are making a huge mistake," he then said with such force as if he had been rehearsing this line. Immediately she sat up straight, guarding herself. "You are jeopardizing your own safety because of all of this."

"That's not what I'm doing," she said, somehow relieved that he immediately referred to professional matters.

"You are avoiding me, which I can understand," he said, "But perhaps we can try to talk about this…to, I don't know, clear the air or something."

"Clear the air?" she repeated. "Joseph, what else is there left to say?"

More than enough was left to say, she knew it, but before he could say exactly that she continued: "I just don't see how talking about it would make it all go away."

He stayed silent. For a moment she feared that he had left her, even though it was exactly what she asked him to do. But then, very softly, she heard his unsteady breathing as if he was trying to say something but held back at the last moment. Finally he took a deep breath. "I know I'm not supposed to ask you this, and I'm sorry. But I just…I only need to know…" his voice trailed off and she had to listen more intently to hear him. With a pounding heart she waited for him to finish. "Clarisse, if we _had_ spent the night together, would you have still have broken it off between us?"

Sobering up immediately, she sat up straight. "What difference does that make…?"

He spoke before she could finish. "Because, quite honestly, it would have been so hard for me to let go after…I mean if we had…" He stopped himself and an uneasy feeling washed over her. She had to change the direction of this conversation if she wanted to keep her composure,

"_If_ we had…" she repeated, stating the obvious. "But we will never know, will we? Because we were literally saved by the bell, weren't we?" She attempted a light joke but he didn't laugh. Frankly, neither did she.

"I don't think 'saved' is the right word here," he stated sadly, but pointlessly.

She sighed deeply, finally fully joining this conversation. "Joseph, it's not like I have a choice in this matter. My life is on display constantly, you know how it is."

"Would you?" he asked yet again.

Her voice became stronger, she felt she was activating her defense mechanism. "God, if you must know…yes. I suppose I would still have broken it off - no matter what would have happened."

"Oh," he said. For a moment he was silent and she bit her lip; rejecting him was like rejecting her own soul. Practically impossible.

"But why did you come to me in the first place?" he then asked, his tone unsure. "Surely there must have been a reason for you to decide…I mean, you knew how I…how we…" Frustration sounded through in his voice. "God why is this so hard to say? Can we please talk about that evening?"

She said nothing.

"Clarisse…please talk to me," his voice was pleading. It weakened her knees and melted her resistance. What was it about this man that allowed him to have such a hold on her?

"I was so scared when I knocked on your door," she then admitted, grabbing a fistful of sheets to control her nerves.

His voice became hoarse. "I was scared, too. More than you know."

"I don't know why I came though," she sighed and a helpless feeling washed over her. There was no running away from him, she just couldn't postpone this confrontation any longer.

Now his tone became softer. "Perhaps because there is something between us. Something wonderful."

She remained silent. How could she even respond to that?

Then, he heaved another deep sigh. "Clarisse, it was _**not **_nothing. You don't truly think it meant nothing to me, do you?"

She shook her head without realizing he couldn't see her. She remembered asking him if it meant nothing to him. She also remembered regretting asking him this the second the words had left her mouth. He just shouldn't have been with her when she saw the newspapers; her emotions had been too raw at first. "I shouldn't have said that."

He started to plead with her again, she felt it, and she closed her eyes in despair at his warm tone that became unbearable to listen to. He made it even worse: "It meant everything to me, you know that. It still does."

Again she didn't speak; she was at a loss for words.

"Tell me something," he said softly, and for a moment she heard a trembling tone in his voice, a sign that he was nervous. "Have you…ever thought about what it would be like…to be, well, _together_ that way?"

She gulped for air, her cheeks burning. Her hand touched her lips and her eyes drifted shut. Her stomach tightened and yet an odd sense of surrender flooded her. Once again, Joseph had hit target.

"Or was it just my imagination that has forced all those maddening images on me for all this time?" he continued. "If so, please forget what I said."

"It wasn't just your imagination," she said after a small pause. Blood rushed through her body, making her skin glow. Even though she felt exposed, somehow she felt the need to comfort him, to stand next to him in their joined frustration. "Of course I've been…" she hesitated, …"wondering."

His low chuckle caused a warm glow to spread out in her stomach, and teasingly it seemed to drift lower. "I wouldn't be human if I didn't wonder, Joseph."

He grew silent at that and suddenly she felt cornered, nervous to the bone. But then, after yet another deep gulp of air, she asked the question that had been wandering around in her mind ever since that particular evening. "Would you…I mean, that night, do you think we…would you truly…" She faltered, struggling to continue. But then she spoke quickly, hoping her voice wouldn't carry as much emotions that way. Yet she needed to know, for once and for all. "Would you have kissed me?"

She thought she could hear his smile through the phone. "Yes," he simply said. After slight hesitation he continued: "I already started to, didn't I?"

Folding her hand around her stomach, she desperately tried to stop the butterflies from fluttering. The memory alone caused her body to respond in a maddening way. "You did."

Then, he seemed to have gathered courage because his voice was suddenly a bit stronger. "Would you have let me?"

Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. A shiver shot down her spine, weakening her even more. "I just…"

He spoke again, fast and without question, as if there were no barriers standing between them. "I wanted more than a kiss though, Clarisse. Much more. And for what it's worth, I still do."

The sensuality in his voice was unmistakable and she leaned back against the soft pillows, hugging the phone to her ear. Deep-rooted passion was rushed by her blood through her entire being. "I know."

"I can't tell you how many times I imagined…I mean, I dreamed…" his voice faltered and she sunk back into the pillows even more, savoring the hoarse tone. "I would have pursued it all Clarisse, if you had let me."

She closed her eyes tightly, and sighed. How could she fight the truth any longer?

"I would have let you, Joseph," she suddenly said, and with that she sealed her fate. She ignored the protests of her mind; her heart and body were winning this battle. Finally she was admitting it out loud. To herself, to him and to the two of them. No more denial. She would have let him make love to her, right there and then in that old dusty hotel room. And if she were completely honest with herself, she had known all along. "I would have let you."

"Oh God, don't say that," he groaned, and somehow that response tickled her, amused her. It was hugely flattering and to her own horror she giggled like a schoolgirl. Flustered, she held her breath. "Damn you…" he swore softly. Then his voice became stronger, as if he had just woken up. "God help me, but I'm only a man."

"What are you saying…?" Contradiction roared through her once more. Fear, anxiety, it all caused her stomach to tie in a knot. There was only so much she could handle; the attraction simply was too strong. Desire shot through her, hot and sparkling, melting away the negativity inside her. How could she push it away, how could she live without the fire he evoked in her?

He was panting slightly. "I won't say it on the phone."

"Where are you?" she asked, sitting up straight with wide-open eyes. Adrenalin shot through her, making her heart race, sending a tremor through all her muscles. Within a second, her body was ready to take the leap and run away.

After a small pause she heard him speak again, he was speaking softly but the heat and desire in his voice made her tremble. "Where I've always been Clarisse. Right outside your door."

Everything froze. The clock stopped ticking, Joseph stayed silent, and her limbs were completely still. He was out there, waiting. Her mind went fast, contemplating so many thoughts that she didn't even know what came first. What on earth was she thinking? Was she honestly contemplating making a decision that was going to affect her for the rest of her life? Based on what, a hunch that it would all be so wonderful? How come they were so sure? Why had it felt so good to be with him in that hotel room in Marseille, just being with him as a woman, instead of the Monarch she was forced to be?

Forcing herself to move, she slid from between the satin sheets and walked in bare feet towards her living room. Deep down she knew the answer to all these questions. Joseph already was her partner in almost every sense of the word. He stood by her, guided her, took care of her, listened to her, made her laugh and most of all…was her equal. Mentally, socially and intellectually, he was her equal. And in one moment, he had managed to make her see that he could be her partner in the physical sense too. All she had to do, was open the door one more time.

She glanced at the morning paper that was still on her coffee table. The pictures. Witnessing in the first photo her own smile, the joy in her eyes, her face beaming with happiness . In the photo right next to it was darkness, a sense of mourning and loneliness – all radiating from her face. The press had picked up the difference. Pierre had noticed it and called her on it. And Joseph…oh Joseph, he had known all along. _"Tale of Two__ Queens",_ the captions said. The real question was; which Queen, which woman, did she want to be?

"Clarisse…"

She almost jumped when she heard his low and soft voice; somehow she had forgotten that she held the cell phone to her ear. Again, she couldn't find the words to answer him – her eyes were too much drawn to the closed door of her suite.

He spoke again, his voice low and hoarse, yet with determination. "You said you regret the things you haven't done."

The same old questions went through her mind in a maddening pace. Would it work out between them, if given the chance? Despite the overwhelming complications, could they somehow make this work? Was it worth the risk? She stood in front of her door now, trembling all over. Being drawn to the person right behind it with such force, that she wasn't able to pull away. There was only one way to find out if it would work. Only one way to see if she'd made the right decision.

Her one hand closed around the cold steel handle, the other found the locks on its own accord. The one at the top. Turned. The one below. Clicked away. And then, finally, she removed the chain door lock in the middle. And then there were no more barriers left. The door was open.

As she pulled, he pushed his way in. With him came the smell of cologne, the cool scent of being outside all day and freshly washed laundry. It was so fresh, so heady and so familiar that it made her close her eyes for a second, her heart racing in her chest. But when she opened them, he was standing right in front of her – his dark eyes questioning and pleading.

There was no 'hello', no pleasantries or awkward words or nervous giggles. In fact they didn't speak at all, all that needed to be said occurred between his gaze and hers, looks full of longing and desire.

As she smiled at him, a soft blush gracing her cheeks, he took the leap. With one quick and determined movement, he kicked the door shut behind him. It was time.

A slow sweet burn formed in her belly and she drew a shaky breath. They had yet to touch but he already made her shiver. There were no more thoughts, no more doubts.

He held his breath as he stared right into her eyes; those blue, sparkling, beautiful eyes. And he read, just as he hoped he would, exactly that what he had been feeling all along. Need. An emotion simply too strong to ignore, a wire impossible to cut. Just as he thought his heart couldn't race faster in his chest, it increased even more.

She watched the desperate yearning in his eyes. Almost on its own, her hand came up and closed over his where it now stroked her hair.

"Clarisse…" he whispered, clearing his throat. She saw him swallow as he carefully slid his finger to her face. He stroked her soft cheek, carefully, lovingly, looking at her with a sense of almost disbelief.

All she had to do to encourage him was glance at his mouth and then back up to his eyes. He understood her unspoken wish and a small smile appeared on his lips, nodding with the lightest of movements. Telling her that it was all right for her to want this, to need this, and most of all…that he felt it too.

Afterwards, she could never tell which one of them had moved first. All she knew was that suddenly his lips were on hers and she exhaled a shuddering breath when she melted into him. That first touch of his lips, that delicate, careful, tentative touch almost had the power of an electric shock and she felt it shooting through her entire body. As if placed there, her arms had found themselves loosely around his neck, her fingers touching his skin.

He couldn't be awake, he just couldn't. Feeling her softness underneath his moving lips was not just overwhelming; it took hold of his entire being. Her scent, that special scent was suddenly all around him and he tried to inhale it deeply, yet his breathing was too unsteady. Even though the urge to feel more of her was getting hold of him, he was careful at first. He didn't want to risk her pushing him away. But as he brushed his lips on hers, softly, tentatively, her hands slid lower to his back, pulling him closer. In response, immediately his arms circled her waist, molding her against him so the softness of her body came to rest against the firmness of his. Breathing fast, his hands cupped the sides of her face. He needed one more reminder that he wasn't dreaming, that this was in fact Clarisse in his arms. So slowly he tilted his head back, to look at her face, searching her gaze.

Clarisse held her breath as she found him close to her, his eyes soft and warm, piercing right into her soul. Although it was slowly becoming impossible for her to think rational thoughts, one thing shot through her head that weakened her even more. It wasn't just lust that she felt for this man, although right there and then, that emotion overruled all she was feeling. She was head over heels in love with Joseph, her Joseph. She loved him. Wanted him, all of him, she realized and drew herself closer to him with a snuggling movement of her body.

It was all the encouragement he needed and slowly he lowered his mouth again. Clarisse wasn't objecting to his caresses, the realization almost made him faint. He couldn't resist; as he leaned in he brushed her nose with his own, circling teasingly around that delightful tip of her nose. It made her smile and he answered to that by settling his mouth over hers once more. Deeper this time. More passionate this time.

She wanted to stay there forever more, tight in his embrace, tasting what had only been a treasured scent for her ever since she experienced that first rush of warm feelings for him. Joseph's scent. Joseph's taste. Breathing in fast, she allowed his mouth to explore her and his arms tightened their hold on her. As he tilted his head once more, she felt his lips change in position. Slow, lingering kisses fell upon her bottom lip, light butterfly kisses ended up on both corners of her mouth…Joseph didn't leave one spot of her mouth unattended. Her stomach swirled and turned inside her and she clung to him, savoring his touch.

Although she was enjoying this with every fiber of her being, she couldn't hold back a gasp when his tongue suddenly slid through her half parted lips. She froze breathlessly; afraid that any movement from her would warn him to stop. Or to continue, she wasn't sure which daunted her more. But then he made the decision for her, his kiss broke her resistance, and he broke her soft "Oh…" as his tongue sought hers in a delicious, playful, erotic game.

Joseph felt smooth and warm inside her mouth as she tried to keep up with him, answering his caresses. His taste was sweet and deliciously masculine and she had to hold herself tight to him for her knees refused to carry her weight any longer. The deepening of the kiss awakened every sense inside her, as sharp and instant as a bolt of lightning after a hot and humid summer day.

All of a sudden, his mouth had left hers and he lowered his head to kiss her chin. In surprise, she tilted her head backwards and he aimed immediately for that delicate soft skin in her neck. She heard him kissing her, felt him suckling her skin, and the combination of sound and feelings liquefied her bones. Deep in her belly it tickled and swirled, quickening her breathing and pulse with every second that passed.

"God…" he panted, as his legs started to tremble underneath him. To kiss her soft lips was heaven, but to really taste her skin, to feel her heartbeat racing in her chest, to be able to place his lips on the woman he had dreamed about for so long...it was maddening in the most wonderful sense of the word. As he lowered even more to kiss the warm skin of her chest, he suddenly realized she was in her nightgown; he hadn't even noticed that when he entered her room. But now, as his hands took possession of her lower back to secure her from tipping backwards from his weight on her, he felt the smooth material sliding through his fingers.

His excitement grew; she felt it, heard it, smelled it even. His touch became more urgent, gripping the soft fabric of her gown between his clutching hands. Eyes falling shut, Clarisse lost herself in his touch, in his mouth that explored her chest, in his strong arms that glided over her back. His mouth sparked electricity through her, rushed by her blood through all her veins. Within seconds he had her moaning softly and pushing into his hands wherever he touched her. It had been such a long time for her since she'd last shared her mind, her soul, let alone her body with a man but against her expectations, the nervousness stayed away. She and the man before her seemed to fit, somehow, someway, mentally, spiritually and now physically.

His hands released her gown and slid down, his thumbs caressing the hollow of her spine and then, tentatively, his hands climbed back up to search for the small strap of her gown on her shoulder. It was exciting, thrilling to the bone and comforting all at once, feeling him pressed against her.

"Joseph," she breathed, grabbing hold of his face, his neck. "Joseph…"

Immediately he brought his head beside hers. "What is it?" he whispered. "Too fast?"

She smiled and managed to shake her head, desperately trying to control her breathing. "No, I just…" She stopped herself.

For a moment he said nothing, he just stood there with one hand on her shoulder, the other on her lower back. His face was so close to hers that he could feel her unsteady breathing on his cheek. And then, suddenly, it was like he studied them from a little distance and he knew that regardless of what would happen from now on, they would never ever be the same. Something had changed. Everything had changed. And he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

His voice was low, barely audible, but she felt his breath warm on her skin. "I know," he said as he pulled back just an inch, searching her gaze. His smile was brief, his voice so soft that it made her heart flutter. "We can do this Clarisse…we can make this work."

Staring right into his warm, familiar, loving eyes, she asked, and received, that last bit of strength she needed to face the future. And as a small smile curved her lips, she realized that all she needed was faith. There was nobody she trusted more, than Joseph.

And then he was kissing her lips again, making a sensual assault on all her senses. Clarisse closed her eyes as her hands slid over his firm back, her fingers tracing his spine. That indescribable yearning she felt earlier was now slowly building to a need that was more daunting and more exhilarating than anything she had felt before. She felt the need to lose herself; to let go of everything that made her what she was, and to just be a woman. A woman wanted by a man. And God knows she wanted him. There was so much she wanted, so much she longed for. So much yet to explore.

As their hands started to travel across each other's backs, their fingers clutching and grasping, she realized her gown was yet again in his firm hold. And slowly, but with determination, his finger slid towards the strap on her shoulder. Effortlessly he pushed it down and immediately his warm mouth found the bare skin underneath. Hot lips pressed against her skin as her gown fell away from her upper body and a jolt of fire shot from her belly further downwards, rendering her helpless.

He held on to her for dear life, tasting every inch of Clarisse that he could find. His head spinning, he struggled to draw in a breath and succeeded only in shuddering and panting as her hands slid in between them and managed to separate their bodies for just a moment. Fingers trembling, she started to unbutton his shirt, slowly, insistently. Seeing her hands on his body made him falter and he stared at her face when she had reached his final button. Eyes glittering, she looked up for a moment and a small smile graced her lips as she pulled that last obstacle away. He helped her with her quest and shrugged out of his shirt; tossing it aside the second he could. From then on, he let nature take its course and he pulled her into his arms again, skin touching skin, mouth finding mouth. His mouth had felt dry but she took care of that straight away; he seemed to be starving for her taste, her essence, her entire being. His hands slid over her back, fingers splayed over her skin and then he let his hand travel to the perfect roundness of her behind, drawing her hips against his own. Her gown was resting on her waist and with both hands he pushed it further downwards until, with a soft rushing sound, it slid to the floor.

"You are so beautiful…" he managed to utter, but he didn't give her time to become self conscious.

She moaned softly when his hands were suddenly everywhere on her and she returned his caresses, touching him wherever she could. God help her, she wanted more. She wanted the softness of a mattress to support her back. She wanted to feel his weight on her. And she wanted all of that…now.

His head was spinning and he could barely put one foot in front of the other when she started to pull away from him, her hands guiding him to follow her. Step by step they took, Clarisse stumbling backwards, Joseph willingly following her lead. He could hardly see anything but the look in her eyes, that dark, loaded, erotic, hypnotizing look. The last time he had seen this look they were in Marseille and soon after that, he had been convinced he would never be able to witness it ever again.

But as she opened the door of her bedroom for him, revealing the intimacy of her sheets she had just slept in, he knew that she was opening her life for him. As she searched his gaze he smiled at her, feeling her trust warming his stomach and restoring his faith. The last step between them was yet to be taken, but they had already sealed their promise to one another.

Equals. Lovers. Partners.

_**The End**_

_Until next time! Love,_

_Janet xxx_


End file.
